


to guide

by edelclaude



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Disjointed because English is not my first language, Events mixed with thoughts and flashbacks, F/M, Hints of Ryoma/Camilla if you squint, I used a custom name for Corrin, Invisible Kingdom | Revelation Route, Mentions of Ryoma & Camilla & Sakura & Elise, More experimentation on writing, short oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24981877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelclaude/pseuds/edelclaude
Summary: Saizo thinks about his daughter and the events of the recent past that has led to their current situation.
Relationships: My Unit | Kamui | Corrin/Saizo
Kudos: 8





	to guide

She should have been there to guide them.

It is the only thought that touches his mind as he finally stands from his position next to the cradle made of ivory, any other coherence silenced through a numbing sea of white noise of the conflict of his thoughts and despaired emotions that eventually blended into pleas for her return that was impossible in reality. The gaze of his only eye fell upon the infant contained within, though there was an appearance of unfocus about him, as if he stared into a dimension beyond his tiny daughter, far beyond his reach. The image of her mother. Pallid curls that are wild even for her youthful months of infancy, soft cheeks rounded with the rosiness of a healthy child, and it would be so difficult to imagine that this little thing is his only attachment to the land of the living. And eleven as the child has inherited the dark scarlet of his eyes .— the innocent nature has yet to be ruined, scarred with the bloodiness of war.

Saizo believes it is all the more difficult that she is the image of Lysithea and not of him. Every time he draws his daughter into his arms, his remaining eye staring directly at the seemingly helpless infant that squirms within the warmth and protection of his arms. And even as he lays the little one in the cradle once more does he look directly at her, both grief and the love of a father coursing through his veins. She was the very thing that kept him from joining Lysithea in the arms of death.

She should have been there to guide them to victory, to earn her justice against all those that have wronged her. Or so that is his singular thought as he kneels beside his sleeping daughter once more with knowledge laying heavily upon his shoulders that he will forever atone for the sin of his failure of protection of her mother. 

If only she had been spared the bloody fate that her path had treaded towards.

He had known that he had procured the reputation as a shinigami upon the battlefield. Reaping the souls of the enemy was no futile task, his dark blades serving as extensions of himself and his is the menacing face a soldier sees before they are taken to the land of the dead. Never in the worst of the terrors of the night came the image of Lysithea coming under his wrath, his dark blade shining and flowers with petals of scarlet blooming brightly where her silver armor should have been. It had been his instincts later he had come to the realization, a blank stare into the thin blanket that had shrouded her body., in the ease of raising his blade against her. He truly was made of stern material, as anyone would claim, but as he had thought, his blade against her had seemingly been an impossibility.

Her hand had been heavy upon the hilt of her Yato and for the briefest of moments it had not been the personality of Lysithea that had claimed her body. She — or perhaps rather it was not her to make such a move of treachery — only drew Yato from the sheath as the crimson armor of her eldest brother shone bright in the sun, the very color of the blood that the thing had desired to draw. If it had been any other enemy perhaps he would have been pleased to fulfill his role as shinigami, though there had not been a moment to think with his instincts in full command of his mind. When he recovered the control of his very consciousness, he saw that he had not allowed Lysithea to fall, body limp in his arms and blades buried in her chest, a crimson flower blooming and streaks of the same color that were streaming from both nose and mouth.

However, in those last moments, she had become herself again.

“I… I don’t know what came over me, Saizo…” Her words had stolen the breath of her lips, tears soon smearing with the rivers of blood that carved her face. He had felt grief contort his face into a ravaged expression and pressed his face into the waves of her snow white tresses, her scent of lavender the briefest comfort. “Kiss me, my love.” Slender fingers had curved over the rough carvings of his features, a final request for the woman to meet her untimely end so shortly. Desperate and wanting something he would never have again, he had complied, her bloodied lips against his and he tasted blood and the death coming for her, but as well as the final gifts of her love. His tears hot against an ever cooling face, perhaps eternally sleeping if not for the stained redness of blood, she had laid limp gathered against his chest — perhaps a fool’s attempt to bring life into her — until both of her eldest brothers came with the request of her body readied for their final farewells.

Fate was far from a kind mistress and spared no suffering for even the youngest in the death of Lysithea, for Minako was all of four months and no longer knew of a mother. She had not yet been weaned from the breast of her mother and attempts for feeding were all in futility with the barest of comforts in the familiarity of her father’s arms and the scent of her mother that yet clung to the bed shared by her parents. However, Saizo had been determined to have a good end awaiting his daughter, he would not allow the death of the tiny being to be in vain, to deprive him of the last memento of his love, for no children of his would ever be a waste of breath.

“Of course I would be most willing to care for my most darling niece.” The moment Camilla accepted Minako as her own came in a blur to Saizo but there was ever the gratitude that his daughter was spared of more suffering. There was very little to remember of the moment save for the newly rounded figure of the Nohrian princess and the little secret that she carried the heir to the Hoshidan throne. “She takes after our darling Lysithea does she not?”

Now the girl is near passing her first summer, ever growing stronger with the soft breezes of the spring tumbling into the flames of the summer’s heat. She is ever beloved by her family, most often found in the arms of one aunt or another and it is Camilla and Ryoma themselves that witness her first steps or so that was what he had been informed of upon his return from a mission, Camilla appearing ever the maternal figure with Minako safely in her arms. It is a moment that he chooses not to remember and soon it had become a blur without coherence. Rather than Camilla, his gaze had fallen upon the visage of Lysithea, a vision of what reality should have been — a mother excitedly exclaiming the first steps of her child. However, he had allowed the briefest moments with his daughter and in those moments she had displayed the newfound ability, they had been weak, ever struggling steps, however she had carved her path to his hands.

The barest ghost of a smile had graced his lips for the first time since days that have long past, where his happiness had been genuine and grief did not cling to his heart. And yet even in those moments of the smallest happiness, he had felt that Lysithea should have been there to guide her. To guide both of them, really.

The funeral had passed in a slow and painful process for he had not been ready to give his permanent farewells to the woman who had grasped his heart. His memories again were blurred, this time because of the tears that he thought had been all shed in privacy. Their daughter had made no incoherent wail and had been a picture of exemplary behavior. Much to his shock, as if there had been a strange awareness of the solemnity of the day. She was not buried in either tradition of the Nohrians nor the Hoshidans, rather she was given to the sky in the form of bright flames that had seemed to lick his face with the warmth of a dragon’s breath. It was natural that she was burnt with the highest of honors, shrouded with both the crimson of Hoshido and the royal violet of Nohr. Her hair left loose and adorned with flowers chosen by the youngest of her sisters, she appeared more the image of a maiden asleep once she was washed of the wounds that cut her life short. Heartbreakingly beautiful she had been, just as she was in life.

And there was very little else he desired to remember as she was given back to the stars through flame and her remaining ashes gathered into a jar of jade that was carved in the form of a dragon.

“It is natural that her ashes should be passed to her spouse.” Ryoma was the one to bring assurance though grief still very clearly marked his skin, an endless sorrow in the darkness of his eyes.

The jar of jade now features part of Minako’s room, for Saizo believes her presence should be closest to their daughter even if it serves more a symbolic purpose than one of reality. He is far removed from any emotion of sentimentality save for his daughter, who will never know her mother in the flesh. And though he yet believes that her guidance should be in the presence, he has come to slowly adapt the guidance that is so necessary for the life of his daughter. 

“Saizo, there is no doubt that you will excel in your role as a father.” He recalls the sweet sounds of her words that had come through the days of their happiness, now ever haunting as if it is a ghost whispering in his ear. Lysithea had yet to bear their child, his fingers pressed against the soft bareness of her heavily pregnant stomach. The amazement in his veins was the first time he had felt such an emotion since the days of his youth. Fatherhood was an ever mysterious gift.

“It is you that will help me to fulfill that role.” The admission had come through a low guttural sound of his throat and quickly followed by a touch of his lips against her forehead. She had smelled of sweet lavender and roses, for flower arranging had transitioned into a commonplace activity with the progression of the pregnancy into the latter stages. In those moments of peace there never had been a drop of suspicion that he might guide their child alone, for there was no darkness upon the horizon at day’s brightest light. Perhaps a fatal flaw in the making. 

The child’s hand is ever warm even within the depths of sleep as Saizo learns, the curling of her tiny fingers against his own finger that peeks through the pale bars of the cradle that provides a semblance of protection. He feels that it is a moment that reflects the caresses of her mother’s stomach as she was in the womb, a connection between parent and child. Instinct is what drew her hand against his own and the inherent trust within a child even as young as she to be guided by her father into life. The trust is much more than a mere word, even perhaps more than a feeling, it is the very thing that bonds her to him, something that is ever so fragile or near invincible, dependent upon the choices that will be made. 

Even if it nears dawn, Saizo will not take his departure from the room for his duties to his liege no longer require his presence at the earliest hours. Ryoma has refused to call on him during all this time, well understanding the devotion of his retainer to his child left without a mother. Only when dawn comes to melt into the day, the sun blaring its rays of molten gold over a sky of azure does he tend to his duties, time well spent with his daughter who now clings to his clothing, her eyes of scarlet widening with curiosity as they traverse the grounds. She is a child of silence much as he had been, not a sound gracing her lips and merely observation is the emotion that is clearest upon her tiny features.

“Saizo!” The voice is ringing and cheery and no longer a pestilence to his ears as he has grown to know the youngest of the Nohrian siblings over the past few months. “Allow Sakura and I to care for Minako today!” There is a flash of pale strawberry that follows the waves of blonde pigtails, the two most youthful of the royalty standing before him. They have grown an adoration for the child and most often Minako becomes their charge (often they have been assigned the most menial tasks for completion and have sought changes in their schedules). He has found his daughter to flourish in their care.

“I do not expect that my tasks will exceed past dusk.” Minako no longer wails when she is parted from her father, curling into the warmth of Sakura’s arms as she is given to her, ever gentle and steady. Even as he is stripped of the warmth of the little body pressed against his chest, he thinks of himself as her father — in previous times he had thought himself separately as ninja and as father. Fingers are flicked through the pale curls that grow more wild with each passing day. “Behave yourself, child.”

These are his departing words until they are reunited once more.

These departing words do not smell of the permanence of his words he had given to Lysithea before the flames were to take her body. Even as he sat before her body, her eternal rest no longer marked by bloodshed, did Saizo ever think of the fantasy of her in his arms again, held protectively against him as she whispered sweet little things into their daughter’s hair. However death makes it not much more than a fleeting thought and there is not even a ghost to grace his arms, even if the images are forever a dream in his mind, a dream never to be reached. And so that was why he had given her those final words, a release of his eternal dreams to the stars until he may one day join Lysithea in death.

“You are in a place where I cannot be yet. However, you will be loved always.” He dared not a single touch of her, the body rigid with a lack of her presence and he could not stand a lack of her warmth. “Minako… She will be loved. I will guide her even when you are not here. Our daughter will thrive.”

Even as he always believed that Lysithea should have been there to guide them, he always knew that his role to guide was a fixture now permanent in his life. Though his words had been final, he would keep to his promises, to see their daughter through to a flourishing life. It was what kept him from pleading to her to allow him to join her once more. Even so, he would live for their daughter.

He is true to his word and dusk is quickly brushing the remnants of the golden rays of the day away when he begins his search. There is little difficulty in the scouting of their location , the chattering sounds of two princesses gossiping and gibberish formed words from the mouth of a baby are heard near the stream that cuts through the area. Minako is in a mood of pleasantness when he seeks them out, positioned upon the lap of the little Nohrian princess who handles the child with surprising ease (the princess is of a petit stature yet and a great deal of years younger than many, save perhaps for Sakura herself). The princesses provide him with greetings that are cheerful and Elise is the one to provide him with the details of their day and how they especially are proud of her seeming attempts to speak.

“Well, she’s not even one, so she won’t be saying full words yet…”

“Perhaps she will be calling you Papa.” Shyly Sakura adds, hope glimmering in her eyes.

Once she begins speaking she will begin cursing or Saizo thinks to himself and kneels to the ground to gather Minako back in his arms. He does not further contribute to their conversation and instead he thanks them for their assistance and great care they have taken for Minako. The two princesses greatly understand his lack of taste for conversation and even more so the love he holds for his daughter. It is a scarce trait of his that he has allowed to become known even if he does remain shrouded in mystery in other aspects. 

Once more in his arms, he swears to her as he always does even if she does not yet have any comprehension of his words. That he will never let her go and that it will be him to guide her even in the light of loss.


End file.
